I am apparently done with sleep for at least awhile. Understandable, I guess, since I was nodding off at my desk at home at 7:33 p.m. and decided to go to bed. I did get in some Xbox time with my four-year-old son, Julian, who seemed particularly happy to see me tonight. Thrilled, in fact, to have daddy home.
God, there is no kind of love like this. Better than the love of a girlfriend, which, if you are lucky, maybe lasts once or twice in your life. Better than the love of a spouse, at least here, because my spouse depends on me for just about everything and so I am constantly worried about living up to that. This is even better than pet love, which is always wildly enthusiastic and unadulterated no matter what kind of skanky condition you happen to be in. But, let's face it, the pet is about as smart as lint and maybe not such a good judge of character.
The love of your child is better than all of that because your child does have a brain like a sponge and can already make choices and decisions about who he likes and dislikes.
(Painful segue here, but hold on while the g-forces hit because I am still on point.)
In most electronic games, you can hack your way into something called God-mode. Better yet, you can usually find someone online who has developed a ready made hack that you can just type into the code or install from a zipfile. It's always fun to go into God-mode for awhile, especially if life is throwing you some high hard ones inside and brushing you back off the plate. In God-mode, you are impervious. You are invulnerable. The Big Unstoppable, in the words of Shaquille O'Neal. In other words, everything you can't be in real life.
I am at the God-mode stage with my son, where he looks at me as if I'm the Big Unstoppable. Accomplisher of all things Important, like fixing his toy or being able to find the pick from his guitar or always watching at just the right moment when he has figured out a new skateboard trick on his XBox game.
I love God-mode. I love my son.
Unfortunately, I am sick. It's like God-mode in reverse. And the following, for me, is unheard of. I have been sick for nine days and now it is doing that awful morphing thing that illnesses sometimes do these days, which is to shapeshift into some other frigging malady. So, I have left behind last week's ridiculously sore throat and headaches and bad stomach and have acquired what seems more and more like one of those awful sinus infections that sap your energy and destroy all efforts at concentration.
Hence, my hitting the sack at 7:33 p.m., three minutes after my son, who is also sick and barfed all over his bed, which is kind of why I'm up right now.
I'm going to give myself a time limit here. I have to be back in bed, at least trying to sleep, by 1 a.m. Problem is, thngs are just pouring out of me the way I wish this infection would pour out. I can't seem to stop. Probably delirium. Great.
Yep, at 12:17 a.m., it's now official. I have become a booger/snot factory.
*Grabs tissue. Blows nose for the fourth time in the last 10 minutes. Little snow mountain building up between keyboard and monitor.*
Work sucks at the moment, which is odd because it hasn't sucked in quite a long time. I think it is because I'm sick and my best friend at work is away in New Zealand and there is her absence combined with the addition of a Jerk.
The Jerk is someone I've seen around for years and who now, during my illness, sits one aisle over from me. For some reason that escapes me, he has developed an instant dislike for me, or maybe it has been festering in him for a long psychotic eon. Who knows? All I know is that he directs enthusiastic, charming conversation at everyone around me but me, to whom he barely grunts an acknowledgment. Weird. I am always amazed at reporters who can so enthusiastically seek the truth in their stories and not leap to stupid conclusions but are unable to summon an iota of that trait in their regular interactions with other people. There, I feel a little better now.
I just coughed. I sound like Doc-frigging-Holliday when I cough. What the f**k is this anyway? I could summon geese in heat with this cough.
*Thinks the worst. Imagines opening paragraphs in respected medical journal. "The unfortunate Patient Zero in this pandemic succumbed to his illness while blogging in the wee hours, his symptoms eerily reminiscent to the super flu that annihilated most of humankind in Stephen King's 'The Stand.'"*
Another cough. Damn. I'm surprised I'm not waking half the neighborhood.
*end of transmission*